


the wedding

by bellaaanovak



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deductions, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, F/M, The wedding, overuse of bloody, reference of depression etc, sherlock dancing, smoochy smooch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellaaanovak/pseuds/bellaaanovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock finds someone to dance with, and that someone is you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Personify the physical aspects of "you" as much as you'd like. She is/you are older than eighteen in this. You/she introduce(s) herself as "Bella" because that is my name, and I had to give my "you" a name or else Sherlock would blah blah blah about "okay, so u do this, but do u have a /name/" so yeah. Enjoy, regardless!

You listen patiently as John’s best man, the _great_ Sherlock Holmes finishes up his speech and makes his _“first and last vow_ ” to John and Mary. It was a bit chilling, the way he worded it. Either way, he awkwardly finishes up and the music starts up again.

 

You can’t help but think he’s cute and rather funny for an introverted private detective.

 

Other guests around you begin to dance with each other and Molly politely shoves you off considering you’ve been tagging along with her practically all day. “They don’t call it a plus one for nothing,” You mutter. Everyone is dancing as you weave yourself through them towards the dessert table. They’ve got out Milano cookies and you smile to yourself and eat a few before downing a glass of wine. Turning back around to face the dance floor from the end of the room, you see Sherlock timidly standing amongst the crowd.

 

Carefully but boldly, you trot towards him and approach him, your simple dress flowing gently with your movement. “Hello,” you say. He looks down at you and furrows his eyebrows, as if he’s surprised someone is talking to him. After a few moments of completely studying you, he replies.

 

“Hello.” Sherlock’s voice is deep and raspy from talking all day, presumably, and you smile polietely. “Who are you?”

“Bella,” As the man speaks to introduce himself, you raise your hand quickly. “I know who you are. Everyone does.” Sherlock tilts his head and his eyes move around, clearly avoiding eye contact. Typical.

“How do you know John and Mary?” He asks simply, raising his voice a bit to talk over the booming music.

“I’m a secretary at the hospital Molly works at. I’m her plus one.”

“Ah. I thought that bloke she’s carrying around was her plus one.”

“No, he’s got his own invitation,” Sherlock scoffed and looked around more. You think, _My God, what’s it going to take to get this man to look at me?_

 

It’s quiet between the two of you for a couple of minutes and you push your weight on one leg, smiling smugly at him. “Earlier, were you _deducting_ me?” Sherlock doesn’t say anything, but smiles a tiny smile, like he’s trying to stop himself. “You were completely studying me, so either you were working out deductions in your head or thinking about what exactly is it about me you fancy.”

 

The man _finally_ bloody smiles.

 

“Would you like to dance with me?” Sherlock asks tentatively. You nod, even though you’re rubbish at dancing, because he’s got this vibe about him that makes you want to do things you haven’t even thought about before. He makes you want to care about things and become so enveloped in something you can hardly stand it.

 

Sherlock Holmes is actually making you want to _live_.

 

The detective pulls you farther in to the room where there’s more space as the song changes to something mid-paced – fortunately, something to waltz to. There were only partners on the floor now, everyone else standing aside to watch and mingle amongst themselves.

 

“I don’t quite know how to dance,” You say softly.

“Lucky for you, I do.” Sherlock twirls you and pulls you back in and you can’t control the redness on your cheeks and the flip in your stomach. _Oh, Christ. He can’t possibly know how to_ dance _, too_.

 

He starts off simply, quietly whispering instructions to you. You haven’t danced a day in your life and by the end of the song, you’ve got it down perfectly.

 

Another song follows, a follow-up to the previous, and you dance more daringly than before; you press yourself closer and twirl more extravagantly, causing the great detective to smile again.

 

“To be fair, yes, I was deducting you earlier.” Sherlock says during the song against your ear.

“Mind sharing?” You actually wanted to hear this. You haven’t personally witnessed him deducting somebody else but you’ve heard it was bloody ridiculous.

 

“You don’t like weddings. In fact, you hate them. Adding on, you hate going out in public. You’ve only been working at the hospital for a few months because before that you were too depressed to leave your parents’ house. You just winced, meaning one or both of your parents’ died or they split up. You’re finally getting your life on track because you have a job you’re good at and few, but close, friends. I saw you tagging around Molly all night considering other than her you barely know a soul in this building, and if she hadn’t begged you to come, you wouldn’t have. The cookie crumbles on your lip say you’ve spent more time at the dessert table than interacting with people considering you just _cannot_ talk to anyone here about anything because they don’t have the same interests, _clearly_. Your pupils are dilated either because you’ve been drinking, or you’re aroused, or both and you came over to talk to me because I was alone, and because no one has ever approached you while you were alone, which is one of the reasons why you’ve attempted to kill yourself. Loneliness.  And how do I know that? Well, earlier Mary took a pill for her headache and you squeezed your eyes shut thinking about pills. Also, you have scars on both of your wrists; I saw them while you brushed your bangs back.”

 

You stopped moving. The two of you just stand there in a waltz position while the song plays out. Although you want to look anywhere but his cold, blue eyes, you can’t rip your gaze away. “You’re…” Your voice trails off as you think of what to say, and he interrupts.

“An annoying dick? I’m sure, I’ve heard that one before, it doesn’t affect me really.” Sherlock shrugs.

“Brilliant.”

 

Sherlock tilts his head again and hides his smile. “Not even my therapist could figure all that out over ten hour long sessions.” He finally laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and the song ends. The two of you walk off the dance floor. Somewhere in the midst of the crowd, you lose him, and you pout thinking about how you wanted to talk to him more.

 

After ten minutes, you work your way over to the bar again to take another shot of champagne when you see the bastard outside from the window as you drink.  “Oh, no he doesn’t,” you mutter and rush outside.

 

You chase after him, shivering because you forgot – or didn’t care to bring – your coat. “Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes!” The tall, dark figure stops for a moment and turns around as you walk to him. His cheeks are red and you know yours are too, God, it is cold outside. “You’re going to leave your best mate’s wedding early after all that and not give me a kiss goodbye?” Hugging your arms around each other, you pathetically furrow your eyebrows, and he doesn’t say anything.

 

“Alright, okay, how about this, _Detective_?” Sherlock slides his hands into his coat pockets and widens his eyes. It’s the alcohol driving you to this, but somehow you don’t care. “I think you’re lonely. You’ve been hurt, somehow, by someone, and you’re t-too afraid to let anybody in in fear of getting hurt again.” You’re shivering and you don’t notice him removing his hands from his pockets and unbuttoning his coat. “Y-you’re too damn wrapped up in trying not to get hurt you don’t pay attention to the people who would do anything to prevent it. I don’t need a degree in psychology or a high-functioning, sociopathic brain to figure that out.” The fucking bloke _laughs_ at that.

 

“I could just tell in the way you hardly made eye contact with me and practically refused to speak to anyone other than John, Mary, Molly, or Greg – and kept wiping your sweaty hands on your slacks due to how nervous you were.”

 

Sherlock pulled his coat off and wrapped it around you, forcing your arms in the sleeves as you shook with adrenaline and bravery. “Well, you’re quite right about one thing.” You raise your eyebrows as he spoke. “I was nervous, and I wasn’t looking at your eyes because I was looking at your lips, and looking around to make sure we weren’t being watched by perverts or worse, by John – who’d definitely give me hell about it.” He muttered the last part, and more sooner than later, you pushed up on your toes and kissed him hard on his obnoxiously perfectly shaped lips as yours trembled, and he seemingly experimentally pressed his back.

 

“Oh God, have you never kissed a woman?” Sherlock laughed and gripped your waist, pulling you against him as he kissed you again. Your lips moved together, back and forth, and his tongue swiped your bottom lip, asking permission.

 

You allowed it, gently opening your mouth as his tongue slid in, yours moved as well. They danced together and your hands found their way to his hair, fingers running through his curls. It seemed like forever but it was only five minutes, and he pressed his forehead against yours.

 

Shakily, you looked up through blurry vision at his eyes. His pupils were as blown as yours were. “Do us both a favor and stick around, yeah?”

“Do you like solving mysteries?” You nod and he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Alright. It’s settled, then.”

 

Sherlock smirked and walked away, and you dazedly call back to him. “You forgot your coat!”

 

“Don’t worry. I’ve got lots of coats. Go on, keep it.”

 

With that, he was gone, and you raised your hand up to your mouth, ghosting your fingers over your lips.

 

_My God, that man will be the death of me._


End file.
